LEITH AND THE LURKING EVIL

IT LOOKED LIKE a sinister version of the mess hall. A low stone building, completely black, out in the middle of nowhere. I mean, we were already in the middle of nowhere, but this place was a good hike from even the nearest cabin.

My imagination ran riot as a pleasant shiver trickled down my back. Was it the lair of an evil troll, a holding cell for kids who refused to eat their broccoli, or the hideout of a bunch of renegade creatures?

“Ant - what’s that?”

He spun around, smiling until he saw what I was pointing at. His face froze. His smile faded. He looked like a robot that had just been short-circuited.

All conversation died. All eyes turned to me. I felt my cheeks start to burn beneath their patchy camouflage. I had made yet another embarrassing blunder, but had no idea what. Maybe I’d unwittingly pointed out the secret laboratory of the famous Dr Grieg. I felt as if the whole world had ground to a halt and the only sound left was the blood thumping in my ears.

“That,” said Ant slowly, “is ... off limits. Do you understand?”

“Why?” asked Ray.

“Because I say so!” Ant’s eyes flashed. He wasn’t even pretending to be nice.

“That’s not an answer,” said Broody, flowering in the warmth of undiluted attention as every eye turned in his direction. “You haven’t told us why.”

“Because, something might ... happen to you.” Ant smiled.

“Such as?” Broody was determined to milk this for maximum exposure. This morning he was just another nameless kid; by tonight, he’d be a star.

“For instance,” said Ant, his voice dropping to an ominous whisper, “you might run into Henry.”

“Who?” Broody and Ray made a chorus.

“Trust me - he isn’t someone you want to meet.”

“Why not?” I asked, warming to the subject of the unspeakable Henry. I wondered if he was the kind of person Dean Koontz might put in a book. Like the terrifying Bruno Fry in Whispers.

In the same secretive whisper, Ant said, “Henry’s not so nice.”

In spite of our questions, he refused to be drawn, and with a cry of chop-chop, started us once more toward the river. The old conversations slowly broke out again, but there was no more pushing, and I got the feeling we were all locked in our private thoughts about the Black Bungalow and equally mysterious Henry.

Who was he? Why did Ant believe he was dangerous? And if he was some kind of lunatic, how come he was allowed to live so close to camp?

Especially a camp without a fence.

Without meaning to, I found myself looking about, scanning the shadows, squinting into the dappled light of the forest. But I wasn’t looking for Bigfoot or Baron Frankenstein; I was looking for a guy - as far as I knew, an ordinary man - maybe just a little strange ... and then I saw him.

I blinked. Rubbed my eyes. It couldn’t be.

But it was.

He was still there. This time I wasn’t imagining him - and apparently I hadn’t been before, because---

---this was the same guy. And again he was staring straight at me.

“Chop-chop! Everybody down to the bank! The girls will be meeting us in a minute. You boys pair off and pick a canoe. Make sure and get yourselves a sturdy one.”

Everybody scrambled, and I took advantage of the confusion to pull back into the bushes. There he was, large as life, the wild-eyed guy from the window, and this time he didn’t run away. Not even when I walked up to him and stuck out my hand.

“Hi,” I said, “I’m Leith. You must be Henry.”

There it was again, that wild-eyed look. The way he was staring at me, I thought his eyes were going to bug right out of his skull like in a movie or cartoon.

“Henry?” He gave a sharp, high-pitched cackle. Enormous grey eyes darted about in his pale, lined face. He was tall – much taller than Ant - with greying black hair that stuck out around his rectangular face like steel wool. He wore a plaid jacket, grey slacks and black leather shoes that looked like they hadn’t seen polish in ages. And he smelt funny - kind of stale - like he hadn’t been outdoors in a while.

In a burst of noise, the girls arrived, coming over the rise led by a small, energetic woman who looked like an auburn-haired monkey. Like Ant, she was dressed all in white, except that on the front of her T-shirt was the word MUT. Around her neck was a whistle, and she blew it with gusto.

My strange companion pulled back into the shadows. I could see he was afraid.

“Listen to me!” barked Mut in a nasal voice. “Everyone down to the bank - pair off, girls, and pick a canoe!”

A squealing stampede ensued.

“Who are you?” I asked, confident we would not be overheard.

The stranger smiled. “I’m not Henry. But Henry is me!”

He’s mad, I thought. Maybe I should get Ant. The last thing we needed was a loony on the loose.

“OK,” I said, “that’s great.” I touched the sleeve of his tattered jacket. He seemed comforted by the gesture. As if he hadn’t had human contact in a while.

“Adam,” he said in a slightly shaky voice. “Python. Professor Adam Python. But don’t worry - I don’t bite!” Again, he cackled.

I let go of his sleeve.

He took my shoulder. Not in a threatening way. It was more the kind of thing a favourite uncle might do. “Listen to me. You have to get away from here. That’s what I’m trying to do. But I can’t leave yet. And it’s hard to be inconspicuous when you’re my size. But you’re a kid. Free to move about. No one suspects you.”

“What do you mean, get away?”

“Escape.” His eyes drilled into me. “Go now - before it’s too late!”

He might be mad, I thought, but at least he’s sincere. He actually believed what he was saying. Even if he’d imagined the whole thing (whatever it was), the threat was real to him.

“What do you mean,” I said, “that you’re not Henry but Henry is you?”

“They took my son. They wanted to get rid of me. Henry was going to take my place. But he didn’t. I sent him away! Yes, I did - I sent Henry packing, haha! So they have to get me back. And they’re holding my son. Do you see?”

I didn’t, but I nodded. If there was something wrong at Camp Damble, I was going to find out what. No way was I going to stay in the kind of crazy place that Mr Koontz might write about. On the other hand, if this Python guy was as nutty as he sounded, I didn’t want him mad at me. Either way, better to let him talk.

“Whatever happens - no matter what they say or do to you - don’t tell anyone you’ve seen me. That would be the end of both of us. All of us. Whether you know it or not, we are dealing with some very dangerous people - one person in particular; the rest are like sad, mindless robots carrying out---”

His words were cut short by a scream - from the river - a scream I recognised as Pippa’s.

Splash!

I broke cover just in time to see Pippa and Mut’s canoe overturn. I started to run down to the bank as my sister came thrashing to the surface.

I slowed my pace to a trot. I knew Pippa to be an excellent swimmer; and besides, she had Mut with her. Only Mut did not appear as Pippa’s strong, confident freestyle carried her to dry ground. I stood still, fascinated and scared, not knowing what to do. What had happened to Mut?

Ant stood there, powerful arms crossed over his barrel chest, looking on without expression. Just like that poem we did in school where people watch from the shore - without emotion, without expectation - just blandly looking out, doing nothing. Somehow, that had made me angry - the idea of so much indifference in the world. Where there could be something, so often there was nothing.

Which was what Ant did. Nothing. As precious moments ticked by. My sister made her way up the slippery bank, wrung out her sodden hair, grabbed a towel, and turned back to face the water. I couldn’t tell how deep it was or how swiftly it was running, but if Mut had hit her head, she might have been swept downriver, or might be lying there, drowning, in front of us. Either way, shouldn’t Ant be doing something?

I shuddered at the thought that people drown every day, sometimes in the smallest amount of water. And felt a hot surge of panic as I thought of my parents swimming with sea monsters, protected only by a thin rubber suit, or at best a mesh cage. Then something broke the surface. Something that looked like a drowned red-brown rat.

Mut’s hair!

Then her forehead, monkey-face and scrawny neck. Second by second. Step by step.

She had not come thrashing to the surface like Pippa, sucking in air and swimming to shore. She had simply ... walked. Walked underwater. Without panic. Slowly. Mechanically. She didn’t look upset or even out of breath. She didn’t scramble up the bank, throw her head back and laugh; she didn’t shout at the idle Ant. She was deliberate and methodical all the way. One foot, other foot. Never missing a beat. What was she wearing, lead shoes?

Amazingly, when she did finally emerge, I saw that she was wearing no shoes at all. How had she managed it?

Without expression, she nodded to Ant, who nodded back. I wondered at what point he would have acted. Ever? Would he have just stood there and let her drown?

“Hey, everybody, look at me!” Broody had found a rope dangling from a tree limb which overhung the river. He took a running jump off the embankment. The ground sloped sharply down until there was nothing beneath his feet except the river. Broody was flying! With a Tarzan-shout, he let go of the rope and dropped like a bomb between two canoes. Girls screamed, boys hooted.

“Give me a go!” shouted Jane, eager to follow Tarzan’s lead.

Mut blew her whistle. It made a watery squawk. “Jane - no - that’s dangerous!”

Dangerous. That’s what Adam had said. I was surrounded by dangerous people. I had to escape.

Or did I? Adam was a stranger, just as much as Mut or Ant. Why should I trust him? The funny thing was, I did trust him. And if he wasn’t telling me the truth, he was at least telling me his version of it. Did he have a son? Had he really been taken by “them”? Clearly, something had scared him.

I had to find out what was going on. Trying not to be too obvious, I left Pippa, made my way up the bank, and stepped back into the bushes. My pupils widened in the sudden shadows. And my heart sank.